Our World
by turtledoves
Summary: Not even the sun can outshine their laughter. /A day in the life of Odesta.


**a/n [**_Uses prompt 'sea glass' from Caesar's Palace._**]**

_**00:00**_

He's staring at the ceiling with blank eyes, there but not there, thinking about meaningless things and absentmindedly tracing meaningful words—_you're beautiful, I love you_—onto his lover's back with restless hands. Annie's asleep already, wearing his shirt and sprawled across the bed, limbs everywhere, her head on his chest because she likes listening to his heartbeat. He likes holding her in his arms.

For a moment, he imagines the ceiling is full of stars. He allows himself to smile and pretend that everything is all right.

_**01:00**_

The night is warm and the air soft. Outside, the waves slide up and down the shore, silent and small. The scent of salt carries through the entirety of the district, as it always has, as it always will. The stars shine overhead, brighter than usual, it seems, but there's no one to see them.

And the world falls still.

_**02:00**_

A couple is asleep together in a too-large room on the second floor of a house big enough to fit a large family; a house they'll never fill. The living room window is still open, forgotten in the late hours before bed. The refrigerator hums through the night, sounding thoughtful.

The moonlight peers into the bedroom window, past the drawn curtains, and envelops the pair, keeping them safe in world that isn't safe in the least. But, after all, nighttime is meant for illusions.

_**03:00**_

She wakes with a scramble and a scream, sitting up, tucking in limbs, and waking Finnick, which distresses her most of all. She's crying and apologizing, and her head almost seems to physically hurt, but she's not sure if that's possible, and then it's hard to breathe. She can't remember how to breathe.

She's alone, trapped somewhere, her eyes closed, when warm hands grasp her arms and slide up to her hands, interlacing fingers and moving them down from her ears. Somewhere, between gasps, she hears the ocean. She hears a voice. The darkness can't reach him, too. Her eyes open frantically, because suddenly she's not sure if Finnick's okay and he needs to be okay.

He's crouched in front of her, still holding her hands, gentle eyes on her. He's murmuring something, and she doesn't hear the words, but she takes it to mean that he's fine, he's okay. She crawls into his lap, pulling her arms around him, and stays there.

He kisses her head once, twice, three times as she cries.

_**04:00**_

This time she's lying nicely against Finnick, her legs together and next to his, her toes stretching and curling, touching his and retreating. She can't sleep; she doesn't want to sleep. Sleep only ever seems to haunt her in the end.

_**05:00**_

Outside, the fishermen are just leaving the docks, hoping to come back while the morning's still fresh. Seagulls move from their perches, giving way to the humans. Some of the most persistent marketers are waking up, getting ready for another day of selling. The sun waits beyond the horizon, ready to spring up at any moment.

And the world comes alive again.

_**06:00**_

The sun peeks around the corner, anxious to start a new day. The stars bid farewell, promising to return, and a pink haze envelopes the morning sky.

Annie blinks her eyes open, ever the morning person, but doesn't rise. She stays in her lover's arms, knowing that it's better to start the day with him, wondering if she could leave his embrace if she tried. It's warm here, next to him, and safe, too. She presses a kiss to his shoulder and waits.

_**07:00**_

"Morning," she quips once he finally starts to stir.

He opens his eyes slowly, smiling when he sees her, eyes alight, but then the tiredness kicks in again and his eyes shut. "Good morning," he mumbles.

She repositions herself to bring her lips up to his. "Mags is making breakfast," she says.

Except for tightening his arms around her, he's unresponsive.

"She doesn't like it when you're late," Annie reminds him, of course pinning the fault of their usual lateness on him. Mags doesn't mind much, really. She's just glad they wake up at all. But she doesn't tell them that; they need someone to boss them around.

"I'm getting up," Annie warns, moving out of his arms to sit up.

Finnick's eyes open, shining with a bit of faked fear and a lot of love. He reaches out for her, trying to think of something to say to convince her of sleeping in for another day or two, but she just moves out of the way and off the bed. He frowns, making her laugh, which causes him to smile. "Fine," he says, sitting up.

_**08:00**_

Mags sits at the table in front of a platter full of pancakes. She's dishing one onto her plate when the couple walks in the door—they know where she keeps the spare key. Outside, the sky is overcast. Finnick predicts it'll rain soon, and Annie hopes the fishermen won't get caught in a storm.

They sit, one on each side of the table, with Mags at the head, of course. Finnick serves Annie, then himself. Annie notices the small figurine by Mags' orange juice.

"What's this?" She picks it up carefully, cradling it in her fingers.

Mags grins. "A fairy. Found it in the attic."

Annie traces the wings with her finger, smiling. "Are there more?"

_**09:00**_

Rain drips from the sky delicately, like it's scared to touch the ground, and smears the attic window. Finnick leans forward, exhaling onto the thin glass, and drawing a multitude of hearts in the condensation. He turns to show Annie his creation, but she's got her head in a box of old books, her fingers trailing down the spines of each one carefully, and he knows nothing he could do would get her to glance his way.

_**10:00**_

Mags convinces them to garden with her once the rain let's up ("before it gets too hot"), and Finnick protests, just wanting to relax ("you're making us do your work").

Mags and Finnick—despite his earlier complaints—dig into the moist ground, Finnick squishing the mud between his fingers. Annie stands above them, eyeing the garden and informing them of the necessary means to tidy up the garden. ("Trim that branch there." "Pull up those weeds.")

And when they finish, the world looks a little bit brighter.

_**11:00**_

Finnick reclines on the couch, saying he's done enough today to last the whole week, and now he's going to sleep, and to wake him up on Sunday, please. Instead, Annie sits on his chest, taking a second to make sure she's not hurting him, and slyly grins.

"Sure, but that means no kisses 'til the end of the week, you know."

He blinks at her, narrows his eyes, and then he's sitting up quickly, Annie sliding to his lap. His mouth hovers above hers, and she forgets how to breathe for a moment, but unlike this morning, it's a nice kind of breathless.

"I suppose I'll have to make up for the missed time, then."

_**12:00**_

Johanna calls as their fixing sandwiches for a picnic lunch. Finnick sits on the ground next to the side table as they talk—or, Johanna rants and he listens politely, throwing in insults every now and then when she pauses for him to do so. It's a rarity for his friend to call, so he'll take anything he can get. But when Annie exits the kitchen, a basket in her hands and a blanket draped over her arm, smiling shyly for a reason he can't figure, he tells Johanna goodbye and joins his lover on the steps of the back porch.

_**13:00**_

The candy store is empty when they walk in, as it usually it is. Not many people can afford to shop here as often as Finnick does. He greets the counter girl by name—she's the owners' daughter, and if Finnick remembers correctly, her twelfth birthday just passed. There's volunteers almost every year, yet he pauses a moment, wondering what he'd do if this girl ended up in the Games.

"Finnick," Annie calls.

He turns just in time to catch the box of sugar cubes she's thrown at him. He places the money on the counter—it's a little extra, but no one cares to point that out. The girl thanks him, smiling, and he smiles softly back, trying to rid the image in his head of her covered in someone else's blood.

_**14:00**_

She's got her nose in the fridge, trying to decide between an apple or orange and disgusted by the amount of sugar cubes her lover managed to consume on the walk home, when he jokingly closes the refrigerator door on her before she can process that he's stepped into the room. She squeals, grabbing an orange and sliding out of the way. Finnick is trying not to smile, an innocent look on his face. Annie glares at him, but when his face breaks into a smile, so does hers.

"Hey," she says, half as a protest and half as a greeting.

He steals her orange, and tosses it in the air. "Hey."

"Hey!" She reaches for her orange, but he turns away from her, clutching the fruit to his chest, then he runs around the kitchen island, her chasing behind him.

Not even the sun can outshine their laughter.

_**15:00**_

The carpet on the floor is a mint green; the walls are bleached white. The furniture in the room is simple, but splashed in color from various items that have been thrown around in the eight years the house has been occupied—blue curtains, knitted pillowcases, Mags' pink blanket, colored paper flowing out a drawer from an art project gone wrong. Hanging from the overhead light are strings of sea glass, copyright Annie Cresta, and there's a splash of paint on the wall from a mishap a couple years ago.

For the couple building a puzzle on the floor, this is home. Somewhere in the room—under the recliner, but shh, it's a secret—is the puzzle piece that they will deem missing once the puzzle is (almost) complete.

_**16:00**_

"Where do the birds go?" she asks, legs curled up on the porch swing, watching the seagulls waddle over the Victor's Village lawn.

"Home?" Finnick guesses.

"But where?"

He pokes her in the side, laughing after she does. "I don't know. Why don't you ask them?"

"The birds can't talk, Finn," she says, her tone jokingly condescending.

"Sure they can. That one just said it thinks you're beautiful."

She scrunches her nose. "No, it didn't."

"It did, I swear. And that one says it loves you."

"Finnick!"

"You're right, I said that one. Not the bird."

She shoves him gently, her sides starting to hurt from laughing.

He leans forward, pressing his nose to hers. "I love you."

She let's her laughter die out just enough to kiss him properly. "I love you, too."

_**17:00**_

They venture out to the beach, wanting to feel the sand beneath bare feet and hear the waves wash in and out. Hands are next to each other, but not held, and faces are turned anywhere but onto the other. They can be seen, but really, they can't, because they're hiding behind a façade.

Finnick walks straight to the water, like always, but doesn't venture as far in as usual. He stands ankle deep in the ocean, letting the waves roll over his feet, and watches Annie roam the shore, collecting shells and sea glass, like always. She doesn't notice him watching. She doesn't look toward the water much at all, because what if something were to happen, and it would pull her under currents, and there was blood, so much blood—she glances to the ocean quickly, making sure it's still right where it should be.

Her fingers rub over her newest find—a piece of sea glass, a slight pinkish color that she's never seen before. It's rough around the edges, so she throws it back. Time fixes everything after all.

_**18:00**_

"What do you want tonight?" he asks, searching through the fridge.

"Shrimp," she answers, sitting on a stool at the kitchen island. She runs her fingers over the smooth counter top, counting grains in the polished wood.

"We don't have shrimp."

"Yes, we do. I saw yesterday."

"Well, I don't see it."

She looks up from the wood, where he's still digging through the fridge, looking behind jars and bottles as if it'll suddenly appear.

"It's in the freezer, Finn."

He pauses, then opens the door to the freezer. "I knew that."

_**19:00**_

The sun sets in the kitchen window and everything is how it should be. Outside, the sky turns from blue to yellow then to orange, and then the colors all fade and the world is dark again.

Mags joined them for dinner, and she hasn't left yet. She sits in the chair that, by this point, is practically hers, and knits with the yarn she keeps in this house. The television is on, but muted. Some fashion show is being televised, and Finnick's only watching it to make fun of the clothes. Annie's leaning against him, content to be with him and content to see him smile.

And the world doesn't seem too bad.

_**20:00**_

She takes a book off the side table, one she's read dozens of times already, reaching over Finnick to do so. Once it's obtained, she repositions herself so her head's in his lap, book propped on elbows that rest on her stomach.

"Make yourself comfortable," he jokes, running his fingers through her hair.

She doesn't reply, already immersed in the story, and Finnick laughs to himself, overcome with his love for her, as he starts weaving her hair into impossible braids.

_**21:00**_

She's reaching the end of the book, words blurring, when her arms fall slack and her eyes close, head tipping slightly to the side. He looks down at her and smiles.

"Did you fall asleep?"

She makes a sound that seems like an agreement and fidgets a bit to get comfortable, Finnick laughing fondly above her.

"Come on, then, bedtime," he prods, lightly nudging her arm. When she doesn't respond, he narrows his eyes, and mumbles, "Fine." He picks her up bridal style, smiling right after she does, and spins her lightly in a circle before carrying her up the stairs.

_**22:00**_

He sits upright in bed, Annie half sprawled over his outstretched legs, his bedside lamp turned on.

For his last birthday, she gave him a nice notebook and pens—a black one for him to write with, a red one for her to correct with. It was an upgrade from previously writing verses on various scraps of paper, or just thinking them up in his head at the spur of the moment to recite to her and make her laugh. She's his muse, definitely, and he's writing about her smile.

_**23:00**_

The sky is dark again, and the moon's a fraction smaller than it was the night before.

They're both fast asleep, breaths mingling, even though by his standards it's too early for sleep. In her sleep, she shuffles closer to him, one foot kicking him lightly in the shin, and then they're still again, embracing the night.

_**24:00**_

And the world doesn't exist.


End file.
